The False Prophet

He sat there with a grin in his face, "You see? That's why I'm here." He didn't budge, he just wrinkled his eyebrow in disbelief. "Fine. Don't believe me. Wait another four days, and you'll see what I mean." Finally giving up, he lowered his eyes to his coffee, "Okay, say I believe you. What are you proposing? Revolution? How can that make sense? You're trying to avoid a disaster, not start it." "You're not listening. Revolution as in change. If we start now, we could make it so that the end of your existence would never come", adding more cream to an almost empty glass. "Start what? I'm trying to listen, but you're just stating vague assumptions and doubtful facts, no specific action." "Vague assumptions? What is vague about complete and utter non-existence?" "That's not the point. You want to revolt people to avoid conflict. Don't you see the hypocrisy there?" "Ah, hypocritical am I? You sitting here waiting for death to happen, and then you judge me, the only sensible voice here trying to avoid it." "But what am I suppose to do to avoid it?!" "Speak up. Tell people what they are and what they need to be doing." "I'd be asking people to stand up to overthrow a divine leader." "In a way, yes, but not by hostile measures. And it would be to put a new, fairer divine plan in place and change the outcome of our repeating end. This is about universal justice: the memory of you will not be, and will continue to not be unless you do something about it." He pondered a bit, looked up and sighed acceptance.

The bar was as you'd expect a bar would be at five o'clock in the afternoon. He stood up and looked around to find a pair of eyes that would connect with his. A couple in the corner were already glaring at him with scarring judgement. He looked back with appreciative understanding, "This is the life you'll live in the next four days, but then: Puff! You want to change it? You'd be interested in doing so. If not, you, me, and the spiky haired freak at your side will cease to exist." The spiky haired freak rose up with anger on his forehead and a fist in his hand, "Excuse me, sir, but I don't think I heard you correctly. Did you just threaten me?" He stood his ground, without fear (to his surprise), "The threat is already here, my friend. Your trajectory in life is already in a downward spiral to an abyss. You're not doing what you're supposed to: change course!" His mind went blank.

He woke up in what seemed to be a hospital bed, and an earthquake of a head. A lady that seemed like a nurse came in, "My! Look who has woken up? You got one hell of a beating, sir. Have some aspirin, you're probably in dear need of it." She hands him a glass of water, barely touching his hand. "You've been the talk of the ICU; they're calling you the fortune teller." "What date is it?", he coughed. "You've been out for four days. Good timing, I'd say. I overheard the doctor say that, when you finally came to, you'll be asked to stay in the hospital a bit more time. Psychiatric care: doctors are not fond of all that talking-to-yourself thing. I guess it doesn't matter much now." "I wasn't... that was..." he looked closely at her. "Who are you?" "That doesn't matter, sir. Right now is your time of glory. Look out the window and see your prophecy come true. Wonderful, isn't it?"

He painfully turned his head to see a black shadow fall from the sky. He looked at the clock in front of him, ticking away. "There's time" he said. He started to wrestle out of the bed's sheets. "You might think that, but why spoil it? Isn't it beautiful? Just look at the magnificent treachery literally falling over this world! Man strives to be God pursuing His perfection. Ha! That emptiness there, my good sir, that is perfection." He looked again, and watched the shadow eating the horizon up in such a way that he began to forget what a horizon is; his eyes swelled with awe. "What are you doing? Stand! Go and start the revolution!" he exclaimed. "I can't... she's right: it's beautiful, it all makes sense now." She smiled and climbed up his bed to lay at his side, caressing his hair. "Look at it. Nothingness. Is this what you were trying to avoid? But, why? It's... it's... what is."

Silence came upon them both and their memories sucked into oblivion, never to be thought of again. Silence became inexistent, and any concept of noise and its absence was erased. Then the act of erasing was inexplicable. An explanation became inexistent. And to exist was not to exist.

A light appeared for nobody to see. "Time. There's always time," he said. "And you're not the only one that can hear me."